KJ Apa (left), Camila Mendes, Cole Sprouse and Lili Reinhart star in The CW’s adaptation of the “Archie comic book series “Riverdale.” THE CW photo

“Archie got hot. He’s got abs now.”

Not only are these some of the first words spoken about ginger-haired Archie Andrews in The CW’s “Riverdale,” it’s a safe bet they were also part of the pitch made to the network when selling the new teen drama.

No longer the dopey-eyed boy from the long-running comic book series, Archie (KJ Apa) is now a chiseled, football-playing hunk, standing shirtless and being leered at through a bedroom window in his first appearance on screen. His aforementioned abs are a product of a summer spent pouring concrete for his dad, during which time he also discovered a love of music and, oh yeah, an affinity for sleeping with his teacher.

“Riverdale,” premiering 9 p.m. Thursday, makes no attempts to hide its intention to implode it’s wholesome source material at every turn (particularly those sharper deviations, like the latter), and it has a blast doing so. But the series is more than “Archie Gone Wild.”

“Riverdale” is a genuinely smart, atmospheric and subversive take on the small-town tale, with a knack for compelling young adult drama, enticing character development and a murder mystery thrown in for good measure — because, of course, there has to be a murder.

As with any good character study, “Riverdale” lives and dies (no pun intended) on its cast, a well-crafted ensemble of new and seasoned talent that contribute to the delicate balance of unease gripping the title town and its inhabitants.

As Jughead’s (Cole Sprouse) narration tells us, the story begins with Jason Blossom’s death. The other red-headed teen suspiciously drowned over July 4th, and as school gets underway, his death still lingers.

As the pilot acquaints the viewer with the cast, Creator Roberto Aguirre-Sacasa is careful not to overstuff the show with too many of Riverdale’s finest — allowing those that make the comic-to-screen jump space to breathe and grow.

While Apa sure looks the part as the upgraded Archie, as with the comics, he’s immediately upstaged by the women in his life.

Lili Reinhart and Camila Mendes are both sensational as Betty and Veronica, respectively, two women coming into their own as they figure out what side of themselves to embrace. A yin and yang duo still trying to figure out which side they identify as.

Betty yearns for Archie as much as she craves to break free of her good-girl image and her strict journalist parents, who keep her on a tight leash so she doesn’t stray down an undesirable path like her now-institutionalized sister. So conflicted at times, she balls her fists tightly enough her nails draw blood. Reinhart has such a firm grasp of Betty and her adolescent struggle to be more than her parents, her town, Archie and decades of comic book readers expect of her.

New York City transplant Veronica, meanwhile, brings her self-described “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” aesthetic and take-no-prisoners attitude to town in the dark of night and exudes a fierceness that’s too big for Riverdale and just distracting enough to hide her insecurities, including the criminal reputation that precedes her family name. Unlike Betty, she’s trying to shake the bad girl image, even if just to find a middle ground.

It’s likely the show was pitched as Archie-gone-bad-boy, but it’s Betty and Veronica who sell the strengths of “Riverdale.” Their friendship is instantaneous and genuine from the pilot. Try looking at anything else when they are on screen.

One major unknown is Sprouse’s Jughead, a loner largely removed from the action and the core group early on. But as the omnipresent narrator and an amatuer sleuth tracking the Blossom murder case, he’s likely to come into the fold as the mystery deepens.

As for the grown ups, the show seems to be collecting recognizable faces from the 90s. “Beverly Hills, 90210’s” Luke Perry pops in and out as Archie’s grizzled dad, while “Twin Peak’s” Mädchen Amick is Betty’s tightly wound mom, who practically force feeds her daughter Adderall to keep her in line. (Added bonus: Molly Ringwald will stroll into town later in the season as Archie’s mother.)

A high school-set series with murder and teenager hierarchy isn’t breaking new ground, but “Riverdale” is powered by a distinctly millennial voice, wisely steeped in pop-culture references and quippy remarks that feels relevant being delivered by actors who grew up with “Mean Girls” and “Pretty Little Liars.” It can be a bit over-written at times, and camp is in no short supply. But it’s distinct.

In helping Archie settle that age old football-or-music dilemma, Veronica muses, “Can’t we, in this post-James Franco world, be all things at once?” In another scene, Betty’s delightful gay best friend Kevin compares her to Betty Draper in different seasons of “Mad Men.”

As queen bee Cheryl, Madelaine Petsch also gets to hone her mean girl one-liners with masterful precision. Her best line in the pilot is the wonderfully dramatic and dryly delivered, “I’m in the mood for chaos.”

The humor and wit is both perfectly in The CW’s 2017 wheelhouse, and yet wisely timeless adolescent.

In many ways, “Riverdale” is reminiscent of the first season of Fox’s “The O.C.,” the highest of compliments from this reviewer. It’s there in the dialogue, balanced between a biting humor, zeitgeist aptitude and a smart grasp on real emotion. It’s in the character building not just serving the teens, but also the adults that orbit their world.

In there own ways, both shows have all the elements of a guilty pleasure, without ever making you feel all that guilty about surrendering to it.

The only thing missing here is a beach brawl and a uber-masculine jock yelling, “Welcome to Riverdale, b**th.”

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